The torture of sleep deprivation

The pixies have been poorly. It’s been about five and a half weeks since I had more than about 45-minutes of uninterrupted sleep. There have been far too many nights where I’ve had a total of two hours sleep. I don’t know how I’m still standing. As it is, the world is a little hazy and I have a tendency to zone out and concentrate on the tinnitus that’s taken up residence in my left ear.

Little was first. She succumbed to tonsillitis, which is horrible as an adult let alone as a tiny person. She shared her germs with Medium, who, always a generous child, thoughtfully passed them back to Little when she’d finish with them.

Big managed to evade the evil pus-filled tonsils until school was out. The following morning, her temperature started to climb and we made our second trip to the out of hours service in a week. Of course, she then refused to take her antibiotics and had to see a second out of hours doctor the following day to get an alternative.

By Monday, her temperature, though still up, was a little more stable and we set off for Center Parcs where Medium decided to throw a few new spiking temperatures and a few vomiting sessions to keep us on our toes. Big, not to be outdone, developed the cough of doom. We left early.

Today, all three have been seen at our doctors’ surgery and all three have shiny new bottles of antibiotics to combat their rattling chests and spiking temperatures. Merry bloody Christmas to us. Lovely Husband and I are also coughing up a lung every so often, but apparently, my cough is viral. HOW DO THEY KNOW? How do they discern the difference between our children’s coughs and ours?

I am not the type of mum that panics. I thanked my religious viewing of Casualty and Holby City for giving me the foresight to turn off the engine when I was upside down in my car with an arterial bleed and my hand de-gloved. Likewise, when the kids are poorly, I don’t panic and follow my instinct. Until the thermometer says 40 degrees, and then I panic that they’ll fit. If they start throwing up at the same time, I’m dialling 111 quicker than a… Well, a very speedy dialler.

As I prepare for another night of soothing a whimpery Big, trying to stay awake while a hot and fractious Little dozes on my shoulder (feeling the flutters of the Miracle make this quite a special time) and then attempting to get a few hours of zzzs while Medium (who has taken up residency in our bed as she can’t possibly sleep without Mummy when she’s poorly!) lies across me and flings her many stuffed friends at my head, I am most thankful for Lovely Husband. While he can sleep through the nocturnal nursing that the smalls demand (how? How does he do that?!), he’s getting up every morning and leaving me to go back to sleep.

If only he could administer me a general anaesthetic, I think he might just be perfect.

A very Merry Christmas to you all, and a happy and HEALTHY New Year.

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The torture of sleep deprivation

Do you know what it is yet? Yup!

boygirl

The predominant question we have been asked since announcing our miracle pregnancy is, “I bet you’re desperate for a boy!”. Even the sonographer at our cheeky 16-week scan said, “I’d bet you’d like a boy.”

Honestly, I didn’t care and the question annoyed me. I just want a healthy, happy baby. Another girl would probably be easier and girls really are lovely. Until they’re teenagers anyway. A boy would be something different and it would be exciting to experience the other side of the coin. As far as I’m concerned, it’s win-win either way. I was tempted not to find out this time, but the side of me that has to be organised for every eventually poo-pooed keeping it a surprise.

And then there were Big’s expectations to manage. Before I’d even peed on a stick, Big had already told me several times that I had her brother in my tummy. Having been caning it at the gym, I was a little hurt that she thought I was so squidgy. We made a monumental mistake when we were expecting Little by telling Big that she was going to have another Medium. When we brought Little home from hospital, Big was disgusted. What was this thing that did not speak or play? She’d thought we meant that a nearly two-year-old was residing in my tummy and she’d have another ready made playmate. It took her a fortnight to forgive me, and this time I want to make sure she’s on the same page as us. She’s been adamant I’m growing her baby brother and the idea of a sister would instigate a strop.

Fortunately, the strops are not necessary. We are indeed expecting a boy! With ICSI, you have a high chance of girls because the Very Clever People choose the strongest sperm, which are usually female. With a natural conception, it’s all about timing. The sooner you bump uglies after ovulation, the more likely you are to have a boy. The male sperm swim faster, but also tire easily and die sooner. The female sperm take longer to reach the egg, but they’re marathon swimmers and not sprinters. They live longer.

Biology lesson aside, the idea of having a boy is taking some getting used to! While we’re both excited about the prospect, we’re rubbish on boys’ names. At the moment, it’s likely he’ll be called Buzz Lightyear or Blue Baby. Suggestions are welcome. I’m not sure the Registrar will agree to Buzz Lightyear, though I kind of like it.

 

Do you know what it is yet? Yup!